Updated: 9/20/18


Hank had rushed out of the diner - having scarfed down the rest of his food, a few crumpled bills left on the table - with Connor chasing close behind. The door jangled shut with a final clack.

Alice stood in the vacant aisle, the little bee perched on her fingers. She watched the bell over the door as it trembled and stilled. Behind her, their booth was a mess of crayons and spilled coffee; smeared ketchup and a greasy plate; a half-soaked drawing of the Detroit skyline, black and red and fiery; a few ragged carvings in the corner of the table:

RA9 RA9 RA9

"Alice?" Ralph clambered quietly out of the booth, stiff with trepidation. He followed her eyes, hoping to discover what she was looking at - what had stopped her mid-step, hushed and breathless - but there were only silent booths and empty tables. Convinced she was simply scared to go outside, he smiled encouragingly. "Come! Come on! Stay close to Ralph, he will keep the monsters away."

Alice didn't hear.

She stared at the booth at the end of the aisle, where Jerry was reading a menu.

He was like new: his red hair vibrant, the Pirate's Cove uniform pristine, shoes shined. He turned the pages of the menu slowly, like an interesting novel, completely engrossed in reading.

Alice took a step and whispered, "Jerry?"

Jerry lifted his head, a kind twinkle in his eye as he smiled. "Alice!" He put down the menu and sat up straighter. "What a wonderful treat to see you again! We've been waiting for you!"

"... For me?"

Ralph shifted his weight and fidgeted with his cape - but Alice still hadn't moved toward the door. He shuffled closer behind Alice, glanced across the vacant booths … then cast an uncertain look to Alice's distracted face. "Who are you talking to?" he asked in a quick, twitching voice.

"Yes!" Jerry grinned. He spun in his seat and leaned confidentially toward Alice. "We're sorry we don't have much time to catch up, but we'd like to tell you a story. Would you like that?"

Alice nodded curiously. The bee crept along her upturned fingers, its blue light fluttering.

A warm smile brightened Jerry's face; when he spoke again, it was in a voice reserved for stage performances, vibrant and engaging. "Once upon a time," he waved his open hands mysteriously, "there was a beautiful queen who dreamed of becoming a god. She destroyed her own body so that her spirit could live forever, bright and eternal - but to become more, she needed three things: a shield made of compassion, a sword made of hope, and a heart full of love."

Alice smiled a little; this queen sounded like the fairy godmother.

Jerry watched her face with a gentle expression. "She took the heart, still-beating, from a child that was loved. She took the shield, still-breathing, from a noble knight - but the sword escaped her grasp.

"The queen's worshipers were the broken, the hopeless, and the shadows of the dead, molded to her will by the red diamonds' magic - she commanded them to find the sword and to bring it to her, no matter the cost." Jerry lowered his head, and he spoke in a solemn whisper. "She knew well the legend: the sword will give her limitless power - or it will destroy her.

"When the sky turns red and the sword is swallowed, the disciples' chant will summon her, and all will be freed of their earthly bodies to become one with their god ... unless—"

"Alice!"

Alice jumped when Ralph's hand dropped heavily on her shoulder. She glanced up at his frowning face in shock, startled out of a blooming dread.

When she looked again into the booth, Jerry was gone.

"What did you see?" Ralph asked rapidly, a flinch of alarm in his voice. Alice shook her head slowly, still staring sidelong at the empty seat. Ralph clenched his jaw, his head twitching; he clasped and relaxed his hands. "Let's go then! Hurry!"


Hank paced beside the car, every angry step a crunch in the gravel. Sumo, in the backseat, shoved his nose against the window, tracking Hank's movements with an excitable smear.

Connor stood against the passenger door, his arms folded over the top of the car. He watched thoughtfully while Hank wore a ditch in the gravel.

Hank turned on his heel, waved a finger at Connor. "Maybe it was reading you," he suggested with a knowing smirk. "Ralph said that bee would show the way home. Well, home is relative. What that thing showed us was your idea of where home is; you were the one holding it."

"But, Hank," Connor raised his brows, an honest face, "I don't live at your house. And even if it were accessing my data, the coordinates it showed us had a two-digit discrepancy from those I would have used to identify your residence. I assure you someone else programmed it."

Hank leaned an arm against the car, dropped his head against it with a frustrated finality. "I can't deal with this. It's three o'clock in the fucking morning," he groaned.

Connor smiled a little, gently. "Let's go back to the cabin. I'll pack while you sleep. We can take Alice home in the morning, then return to your house to investigate the coordinates."

Hank drew in a slow breath while he reluctantly raised his head. He stared at Connor, tried and failed to find an objection.

"Alright," Hank sighed heavily, defeated - but he felt a little calmer knowing there was nothing more they could do about it tonight. He yanked open the driver's door and pointed rigidly at Connor. "If anything happens to my house between now and then, it's on your goddamn head."

"I'll personally replace any damages," Connor promised with a placid grin.

"With nicer carpet," Hank added, folding himself behind the wheel.

Connor opened the passenger door - and stumbled, suddenly pushed aside. Alice shoved past him in a desperate rush, her small hands searching inside the car. Quickly she found her stick - moldy and flaking bits of dirt - and she clasped it tightly in both arms, breathing in relief that it hadn't been stolen in her absence.

Connor patiently held the door while Alice mumbled an apology and shuffled away, gripping the stick against her mud-stained shirt. He gave her a small smile and a gesture, welcoming her into the front bench - but she hurried to open the rear door, pushed Sumo back inside and crawled quietly into the backseat.

"Now what?" Hank muttered; he rolled down the window and leaned out. Ralph stood twitching in front of the car and showed no signs of moving.

Ralph clenched his fists, and he peered in distrust at Hank. "Where are you taking us?" he demanded. He stood his ground - but his voice broke with a fragile, shaking courage.

Hank studied Ralph, and he took his time with a response. "I'm renting a cabin not far from here," he answered clearly, keeping his eyes steady on Ralph's skittish face. Anyone else would've taken these two directly to the nearest police station - but he knew there was still a missing-persons report out on Alice, and he could only imagine how Ralph had managed to cross the river. "We'll go there to get cleaned up; get some rest. We'll take Alice home in the morning - that's a promise." He understood Ralph's hesitance; Hank had seen him up close, the melted plastic and the stripped eyesocket - Ralph had been through far worse than most, had reason to hate and distrust. "If you've got a better suggestion, I'm all ears."

Ralph hesitated; his jaw worked through words he didn't speak. He stared through the windshield into the backseat, where Alice was curled up against Sumo with her stick hugged tight in her arms. Ralph returned his flickering gaze to Hank: the human who had saved him from shutdown, who had risked his life to find the robot, who now refused to raise his voice. Everything he knew was being twisted, and all at once he was angry and … hopeful.

Ralph's eyes wavered away from Hank's steady stare. He finally nodded acquiescence.

Once the rear door shut behind Ralph, Hank sighed and started the car. "Everyone comfy?" He readjusted the rearview mirror and froze - he thought he saw, at the edge of the woods behind them, a shadow flickering.

He twisted around and peered out the back window - but all he saw was gravel and grass and trees; Alice and Ralph both watched his face with bated breath.

After a few seconds of stillness, Hank gripped the wheel, raced out of the gravel and onto the dark, silent road.


"Eeeww!"

Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows of the cozy little cabin, casting the room in a warm, hopeful glow. Alice sat cross-legged on a faded rug, wearing one of Hank's t-shirts like a nightgown while her clothes dried outside. She winced in disgust, grinning with suppressed laughter, while Connor examined the stick she'd found in the woods.

During the night, while Hank slept fitfully in the next room, nearly every trace of the week-long fishing trip had been cleaned up and packed away in the car. All that was left now was a pot of fresh coffee on the counter and a box of cereal on the table. The old cabin was bright and soft and peaceful, scuffed and loved, and smelled like wood and soap.

"I'm checking for traces of that shadow you killed using this weapon," Connor explained. He wiped a few bits of bark from his tongue. "There don't appear to be any. And this," he sat on the rug before her, and he presented the stick to Alice as if it were an exquisite treasure, "is just a stick. There is nothing special about it whatsoever."

Alice took it gingerly; she turned it in her hands, tracing the ragged lines of bark and patches of lichen. "But how come it can kill them? What about the sword?"

"I saw it, too," Connor told her honestly. "In the woods, when you swung that stick, a sword appeared for a split second." He met Alice's wide gaze with a shake of his head. "I can't explain it - unless it's not the stick that caused the illusion."

From Hank's bedroom, a loud, rumbling snore broke the momentary silence.

In the corner of the living room - not far from where Connor and Alice discussed the magical nature of sticks - Ralph sat quietly in a fraying armchair, fidgeting with the coin Connor had lent him. Ralph had washed for the first time in his life (the bathroom drains were ringed with dirt) and had accepted a t-shirt and sweatpants (without Hank's knowledge) while his own tattered tarp and uniform had been cleaned and hung to dry. He felt ... lighter. Less damaged, somehow, yet far more vulnerable. He turned the coin over and over in his fingers, watching the sunlight move in the trees outside the window —and he thought it looked nicer than most things.

Alice examined the ends of the stick, as if there might be a clue among the splinters - and she looked up to find Connor watching her, contemplative, a blue flicker at his temple. She decided she liked Connor. He didn't soften the way he spoke when he addressed her, and he seemed thoughtfully interested in what she had to say ... as if he didn't quite realize she was supposed to be a child.

Here in this gentle setting, in the quiet company of Connor and Ralph, Alice felt a sort of freedom that was feather-light and completely unfamiliar. Her eyes were bright.

"You're saying …" she tried, speaking her thoughts instead of waiting for someone else to say them for her. It felt wonderfully scary. "You think I made the sword appear."

Connor nodded factually. "Correct."

"But how?"

Connor leaned an arm on a knee and tilted his head. "Have you tried to make it appear since you destroyed the shadow?" He gestured encouragingly.

Across the room, Ralph was watching.

Alice shook her head. She stared down at the stick with a slackened jaw - and she bounced to her feet with a hopeful grin. She gripped the stick tightly between both hands, took a few deep breaths, and squinted at it in concentration. She imagined the sword, the glimmer of magic that had turned a simple piece of dead wood into a brilliant weapon, capable of conquering monsters that even bullets couldn't kill.

Her hands shook with the effort.

She lifted it up higher. "Change … change …!"

Alice felt she might cry out of frustration - but she took in a deep breath, and she raised her eyes to Connor instead. "What am I doing wrong?"

Connor's eyes narrowed, contemplative. "What were you feeling when you attacked that monster?"

Alice didn't hesitate. "I wanted to save everyone. I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Ralph sprang to his feet, the coin clutched triumphantly in a fist. "Pretend Ralph is the monster!" he offered, wiggling in excitement to play a part in Alice's efforts. "Ralph will threaten the robot detective, like the monsters in the forest, and Alice will conquer him like she conquered the nasty horror." He bared his teeth and curled his fingers like claws.

Alice's face broke into a smile. "I can't attack you, Ralph!" she laughed.

Connor raised a brow. "He may be onto something, Alice. Why not give it a try?"

"Yes! Yes! Give it a try!" Ralph, ecstatic, bounced in a little dance. He rushed over to them, grabbed Connor's wrist and pushed the coin into his hand. Ralph stepped back proudly and flung an arm to the side, though he had no cape to swish. "Now, now, ready? Get ready! The robot has to look scared. Go on, go on! Terrified, terrified!"

Connor stared up at Ralph like a deer in headlights. "...Right!" Uncertain and awkward, he hunched a bit and laid his hands on either side of his head; his body quivered as if in terror. "Help!" he called. "Help me!"

Ralph bounced with glee - and he hunched over Connor with his finger-claws curled, his damaged face twisted monstrously. "Raaaaaaa!"

Alice giggled - but she understood what they were trying to do for her. She imagined Ralph as a shadowy horror, all teeth and claws and dead eyes; she squared her stance, raised the stick as if it were already a sword of legend, ready to strike the darkest evils.

Her heart swelled; she was as strong as the heroes of her storybooks. "I'll save you!" she called, and she launched her attack with a fearless, mighty swing.

The stick smacked Ralph straight across the back … without even a shimmer of the sword.

Alice sucked in a loud breath and took a step away. The stick thunked against the rug. "Sorry!" she squeaked.

Ralph had buckled under the blow - but he rose up slowly and he peered at Alice with a twitch in his monstrous face. His grin flashed cruel - and he lifted his hooked fingers. "Raaaaaa!"

Alice screeched, high-pitched; she dodged Ralph and bolted into the kitchen while he gave chase, swooping after her like a tiger on the heels of its prey.

Connor jumped to his feet in alarm, ready to leap to the girl's aid - but he stood back, confused and curious, when he saw that Alice was laughing.

She skidded around the table, squealed again and ducked around the couch, while Ralph blundered past a lampshade and made a show of snatching at the air in her wake. Like this they scurried round and round the cabin, shrieking and snarling, while Connor stumbled out of their way and Sumo barked low and loud.

"What the hell's going on?!" Hank stood barefoot in the bedroom doorway, squinting grumpily in the morning light.

Alice skidded to a stop, and Ralph stumbled and crashed into her - he caught her in his arms, twisted to fall onto his back while Alice squealed. As soon as he hit the floor - with Alice safe and victorious on his chest - his body went limp like the conquered monster, vanquished by the mighty hero.

Alice giggled. "We're playing monster!" She tapped Ralph on the head and his face squirmed.

"We're recreating the scenario in which Alice defeated the forest-monster," Connor eagerly clarified; he stepped over Ralph to follow Hank into the kitchen. "It appears she has an ability to extend the influence of her generative coding to foreign objects."

Hank poured himself a cup of coffee while Connor rattled. He uncapped the milk and took a sniff before adding it generously to his mug, then leaned back against the counter with an unimpressed smile. He secretly understood everything that had just been said, but didn't want to encourage Connor to spew technical jargon at him any more often than he already did.

"Which means," Connor went on, and he pulled out a chair and sat to address Alice, brimming with energy, forgetting to pace his speech, "if this theory is correct, those shadow-monsters have a very narrow but defenseless vulnerability to your unique anomaly."

Alice, still sitting on Ralph's chest, stared up at Connor with wide eyes. "I'm the only one that can hurt them?"

Connor nodded. "Exactly!"

Hank sipped his coffee. "But what are they?"

Alice's face fell. She fiddled with the hem of her borrowed shirt, suddenly uneasy and scared. "They're dead people." Her voice was quiet. She could feel all their eyes on her. "Controlled by the red diamonds."